Wake Up Call
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: //MurphConn// I hate wakin' up in the mornin' unless me brother's there ta make it a wonderful experience. //slash, twincest, inspired by a picture//


Nicholas: A fic I wrote for a community on LJ, but I decided to post it here as well. I saw a picture of Conn Murph slash and I just drooled for a moment before NEEDING to write this. So here it is. Beta-ed by Kisses, though she claims that I make her job easy by having a lack of correctable errors. I love how my stories are error-free now that I have a beta-reader.

Disclaimer: Don't own, it's all in good fun, luv.

Rating: M...slash...twincest...sexualness...slight language.

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No one likes ta wake up. Can ya honestly claim that ya opened yer eyes one mornin' knowin' that ya gotta go ta work ta get a mediocre paycheck ta pay fer yer mediocre life that is solely fer yer work that goes inta yer mediocre paycheck fer yer mediocre life…Redundancy…ugh….ya did all this an' actually thought "gee I'm glad ta get outta me nice warm bed." I didn't think so. You people are probably thinkin' somethin' along the lines of "Well, since ya put it that way…"

I hate wakin' up on a weekday. Wakin' up means that I've given in ta that invisible pull o' daily life tugging me t'wards that stupid meat packing plant (excuse for a job). At least I work with nice people like my brother. Speaking o' whom… Weekends …not _so_ bad wakin' up. Weekends means that either I sleep in (if it's Saturday) er I get up early ta go repent fer me sins…I like Saturdays better, strangely—hm…I wonder why.

Saturday mornin' when I'm just on the edge o' wakin' up on me own, but desperately clingin' ta that sweet repose that is rest, I feel a familiar somethin' touchin' me. A gentle pull and push (some sorta movin' pressure) coaxes me awake an' I open my eyes—but not because I'm the least bit roused. Aroused: now that's a different story. That _pushandpull _force is somewhere that my brain doesn't register right away because it feels different than it usually does in the mornin'. I'm starrin' through blurry eyes at what is barely recognizable as me brother because of all the stickiness. "G'mornin'," his voice pounds against my "not quite ready fer it" ears. My breath catches from that and…somethin' else.

The way his hand moves where it is (in _that_ place that it is, by religion, _definitely_ not s'posed ta be) and it steals my reply in an airy whimper. I only know that sound because that's how it usually works when it's him touchin' me. My blood starts a delayed rush as me body tries ta catch up with the sudden _pushpull_ urgency o' Brother's fingertips.

"O…God…" the only thing my tight throat can form comfortably. The jeans I'd fallen asleep in (last night I'd been too tired ta even bother gettin' undressed) were _way_ too tight.

"Were ya dreamin' o' me?" O, the little devil. I reach up an' grip his shirt, tryin' ta catch the last bit o' comprehension me mind let slip.

I assumed that it was 'cause I didn't answer that he took his hand away so I immediately gathered meself ta answer. "Yes!…dreamin' o' ye…" My voice was more breathless plea than I had intended, but what could I do with those fingers…_those fingers_…I need them, I need him!

A button popped, it had ta've been me jeans 'cause those wicked fingers…God! A hand—a _warm_ hand—pressin' inta me pants. His mouth lingered jus' above mine but not touchin'. I tried ta lift up ta kiss him, but he moved away with that smug grin on his face. _O yer evil!_ I can't catch me breath. I'm suffocatin' on the smoke me twin blows down inta my mouth I'd opened fer the sole reason o' beggin' fer contact. That an' _those fingers_…

"Say ya need me." A sex-ridden, wet purr; it teased an' fuck if it didn't reek havoc on me ears.

With a sharp swallow an' another stroke o' that hand that was—o! just thinkin' of it makes me almost lose it—I manage ta speak (don' ask how!). "Need…want ya, need ya!" A tight squeeze and a quick caress an' I hitch like a virgin. "_God!_ Love ya—_need_ ya!"

A smile, that smug-ass, prick-faced smile…o wait…Prick is not the best word ta think o' when yer tryin' ta keep ahold o' yerself while someone's hands AND fingers are—ooo that's a good feeling!…Keep that in mind, will ya?

Fer the longest time he kept his lips just _so_ close but not close enough so that I was pining for a kiss…I needed it! "_Please_!!" I whined and I think that's what got him. (It gets him ev'ry time.) He leaned down at last an' didn't hesitate in slippin' his tongue in me mouth an' that set me off. One more _squeezestroke_ an' my release was hot an' sticky and…_ohsogoodgodsogood_…

"G'mornin'." My brother took his hand outta me jeans (which now had an uncomfortable wetness to them) an' put it ta his mouth in a cheeky, sensual flourish.

It took a minute fer me ta recover so that I could even register bein' annoyed er angry er _ogoddoitagain_. "Yer an ass."

"But it was a nice way ta wake up, wasn't it?"

I had ta give him that. Hell, I'd give him anythin' if he kissed me long enough, deep enough…hard enough. An' that's exactly what he did next.


End file.
